Seven
by arrogantbullyingtoerag
Summary: "You know how Muggles do that twelve days of Christmas thing?—well, you get seven. Sorry, love."


Their first Christmas at Hogwarts, James Potter bought Lily Evans a Quick-Quotes Quill. He knew very little about her at that stage—her hair was red, her cheeks were, too—but that the girl liked to write was prominent. It was early in their acquaintance that James observed her struggle with quill and ink, so the gift was apt. (He had purchased presents for the majority of Gryffindor house in this, his first year, and six of them quills, so one should not read too much into it.) Lily, who had not yet learnt to disdain him, accepted the gift with a smile, and—although thoroughly disinterested in girls—even at eleven years of age, James had to admit that Lily Evans had a very pretty smile.

In their second year, he gifted the redhead with a first edition and leather-bound copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. The collection had long been in their family, and now gathered dust in the Potters' personal library; thus, it would not be missed (and in a mere seven years, would once more belong to a _Potter_). James had often observed Lily reading, and—taking this into consideration (inexplicably, for he had never put much thought into gift-giving)—imagined she might enjoy the unfamiliar stories. It was worth mention that he had gifted her the exact copy which had comforted him as a child—without issue, too—but the bespectacled boy wasn't yet old enough to understand the significance of his gesture.

At thirteen, his _cheek_ had impossibly doubled. Originally, the Chaser intended to offer himself as a Christmas present, but remembering Lily's struggle with the skies in their first year (as time passed, James would come to understand why the redhead's presents always mattered most), instead awarded her with a month of flying lessons from "yours truly, Quidditch extraordinaire". If only to add to the gift's allure, Sirius threw in a month of snogging lessons, as well. Lily, of course, flatly (yet politely) refused the offer.

Their fourth Christmas at Hogwarts, James found himself unduly concerned with what to get Lily Evans. The year prior had been something of a joke (and he would blame Sirius for the suggestion), but an inexplicable force drove the boy to _try _this Christmas. The sensation resembled the care he took with his Ma's gifts. Lily had always written, and James had observed this from the first days of their acquaintance. It wasn't until third year, however—when the boy had calmed enough (infinitesimally, but enough) to notice particulars—that he became aware of how very secretive she could be. Whatever it was the girl was writing seemed intended for her eyes only. Thus, James gifted Lily with a leather-bound journal, thick with perfect parchment, and charmed so that only she could read it (the ink simply sunk under anyone else's gaze). The enchantment challenged him almost as much as she.

In fifth year, James took something of a risk in his gift giving. The newly-made Prefect was missing her family, and he had (on more than one occasion) come across her waiting (im)patiently in the Owlery for replies which never came. The disappointment read on Lily's face and, for reasons he was only now beginning to _really _comprehend, bothered the Gryffindor exponentially. Thus, this Christmas, James Potter bought Lily Evans an owl (which delivered itself). The accompanying note was as follows: _Evans, Hogwarts' owls are unreliable. Stress less, you'll get frown lines. Merry Christmas. James. _Of course, it in no way resembled the letter he would have liked to write, nor did it indicate his care and concern for the redhead. All of that was too much for him to admit just yet.

At sixteen, James finally found himself submerged in the feelings which had been dragging him under since their first Christmas, and that first smile. He knew now; or rather, _understood_. Contrary to popular belief, James Potter did not fall in love with Lily Evans at first sight. In fact, he thought her rather rude, extremely temperamental and oftentimes dull. It was only in his third year that the bespectacled boy first came to appreciate her sharp tongue (alongside that _fire_), and his fourth when he realised there was nothing at all dull about the redhead. Although he had begun asking her out in their third year, it wasn't until his _fifth_ that James realised he was no longer joking. Now, well into their sixth, the Gryffindor finally understood what had been true for some time now; that he was inexplicably and irrevocably in love with Lily Evans. Nothing would do, and so he wrote to her of how he felt—a letter which the Quidditch Captain would never deliver—and was it his imagination, or did the Prefect seem disappointed to find no gift from him waiting beneath the Gryffindor tree?

Seventh year was different. For some time now, James had been grappling with the idea that this could very possibly be their final Christmas together. Granted, she had let up on him a little this year, but not enough for him to hope (at least, no more than usual—the past six years had drained him of romantic optimism). The unhappy realisation that he might very well lose her forever hung over James' head that festive season, and holiday cheer became something of an effort. Life without Lily was not an option he liked to consider, but the threat of graduation mocked him from a not-so-safe distance and the Head Boy found himself falling into melancholy. It was entirely plausible, really; a Lily-less existence. One would assume James to have contemplated it—given his multiple rejections—but only now did it occur to him as an option. If she refused him, that was it. Still, the idea was difficult—not because it pained him, but rather he couldn't comprehend it. A future without Lily seemed _other_; like an unvoiced thought, a novel not for publication, a secret which died with the family. Any thought to the contrary unsettled the Head Boy exponentially. In whatever capacity, she would forever be a part of his life. Wouldn't she?

In typical Marauder fashion, however, he was not one to easily surrender (and if the past six years weren't evidence enough of that, then he'd prove himself this Christmas). It would be something of a comfort, he imagined, to—at the very least—be _remembered_. If James Potter was to lose Lily Evans, he would go out with a bang.

Seventh year was different.

He had been unable to decide, and so the week preceding Christmas became something of a spectacle. Seven days, seven gifts, seven chances.

The 25th fell on a Sunday, and so, on the previous Monday, Lily Evans awoke to Sirius Black hovering happily above her bed. She screamed, and he smiled.

"Morning sunshine," the Gryffindor smirked, flopping heavily onto the base of her bed as she drew her legs quickly towards her chest. It was in second year that the Marauders mastered the counter-charm to the girls' dormitory stairs, and fourth when Lily had discovered this. Thus, instead of questioning _how _he happened to be in her bedroom that morning, the Head Girl rather questioned why. His response was simple.

"I'm taking you on a date."

Before the redhead had time to object, Marlene McKinnon appeared at her bedside with an armful of clothes (and a devilish grin). "No objections, Red," her friend instructed, and the baffled girl was left alone to dress in silence. Had she slept through to April 1st? Whether it was the hazy remnants of sleep or sheer curiosity which persuaded her, Lily did not know; regardless, once decent, she allowed herself to be ushered from the dormitory and was soon arm-in-arm with Sirius Black, marching the road towards Hogsmeade.

"Would you at least tell me where we're going?" she demanded, the brisk morning having finally restored her wits. Sirius laughed some, his breath visible before him.

"Three Broomsticks, of course."

"And _why_?"

"Told you—we're on a date."

Lily rolled her eyes, as she was wont to do. "That doesn't exactly—"

"I'll explain everything once we get there, alright?"

And she was silenced. Still, curiosity threatened the redhead (much as it did the family cat—also ginger), and Lily's mind was alive with the possibilities. An elaborate prank of sorts? Plausible, though it made little to no sense for Marlene to be involved (she might not have disdained the Marauders, but she would not inflict their cruelties upon her friend). Momentarily, her mind wandered to something more sinister; with the war ever-growing outside castle walls, there had been talk of an organisation... Sirius—who had his finger in many pies—would surely know of it. Perhaps this "date" would act as her invitation? She shook this thought, however, as, will to fight or no, the war was not a pretty possibility.

She was not to suffer for long. Her mind busy, it seemed only moments before Sirius sat Lily in a quiet corner of Madam Rosmerta's pub and made to order them a drink. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and settled for folding her arms in front of her chest. If the boy hadn't baffled her before, he certainly made up for that now. Sirius returned with a Butterbeer for the both of them, placed them on the table and slid in opposite her. They were silent, then, and the Marauder looked to finish his drink in one.

"So?" Lily eventually prompted, "Are you going to explain?" With something of a sigh, Sirius placed his mug to the side and met her eye.

"I'm in love with you."

"_What_?"

His immediate laughter assured her of the joke.

"Very funny, Black."

Sirius wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, yet left his grin intact. After several more bouts of laughter, much to Lily's displeasure, he proceeded.

"Right—basically, _Merry Christmas_."

She shook her head, bemused, and Sirius placed his hands on the table before him.

"I'm your first present."

There were a number of things about the statement which unsettled Lily, but she decided first to voice the most prominent question (although part of her already knew the answer).

"From who?"

"Who do you think?"

_Potter_.

The Head Girl rolled her eyes; however, if she were being honest, it was something more of a habit now. Admittedly, James Potter had matured some over the past year, and she found herself less and less perturbed by him as time drew on. In fact, there were moments where he was almost... well, _charming_. (She sometimes found herself watching him, too, but that was merely because he made such a spectacle of himself, right?)

"Of course."

"Let me explain," Sirius began, and he cleared his throat melodramatically, "Seventh year, seven days, seven presents. You know how Muggles do that _twelve _days of Christmas thing?—well, you get seven. Sorry, love. Today, you get me. Spoiled rotten, right?" He took a moment to flash a toothy grin, and continued, "I'll be with you most of the week, actually – think of me as your Christmas guide. It'll be bloody brilliant, just you wait."

Lily blinked.

"Let me get this straight," her voice was low, "I have to follow you around all week while gifts are, I don't know, _bestowed _upon me like in a Muggle Christmas carol?"

"Exactly."

"And what if I don't?"

He cocked his head to the left. "You will." Lily made to ask him how he was so sure, but—as if anticipating her response—Sirius interrupted with an explanation. "For the same reason you always read ahead, or stay back after class, or watch our pranks take place no matter how much you disagree with them. You're too curious for your own good, Evans." She lowered her head; there was no arguing with him there. After a moment, the Marauder spoke again (serious now). "Besides... Prongs put a lot of thought into this, and I reckon you care more than you let on. And maybe—because I pay attention—just maybe... you a little bit like him, too." She was glad to have lowered her head, then, for a brilliant crimson no doubt settled itself upon her cheeks (despite how fervently she willed it away). That Sirius could not see her expression was something to be thankful for; nevertheless, his smirk was knowing.

She acquiesced.

"So what do I get today, then?"

"Told you—" Sirius grinned, taking another gulp of Butterbeeer, "—me."

And that was it, really. The two spoke for the majority of the morning, and it occurred to Lily that they had never exactly done so before. He asked questions about her, and she him, and before either of them realised it, their laughter was flowing almost as freely as their conversation. She understood his motives, of course—the Marauders were a package deal. Still, it was (surprisingly) nice to talk to the infamous boy in a safe environment. He surprised her, to say the least, and Lily had a new-found appreciation for Sirius Black. It occurred to him, as well, that there was something valuable about Lily Evans; something in her character which was, for lack of a better word, special. She was just the right amount of independent and headstrong, yet equally calm and pensive. Temperamental, yes, but passionate. Lily Evans was the perfect balance; she equalled, rivalled and matched his best friend in every conceivable way and was, of course, ideal for the entirely off-balance James Potter. To preserve the mood, he had tried his best to avoid the _J _word as long as possible, but with the afternoon sun now streaming through the nearby windows, Sirius sighed.

"You know... he's a good bloke."

Lily let out a small breath.

"I know."

The next day began much the same, with Sirius perched eagerly upon the base of her bed and Marlene standing nearby with a hand-picked outfit. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Lily even observed Mary MacDonald watching knowingly from her own four-poster, and felt herself colour. How in Merlin's name had Potter organised this behind her back? The Head Girl prided herself on keeping up-to-date with Hogwarts' happenings, and was—if she did say so herself—particularly intuitive (few things evaded Lily Evans). To think that talk of this must no doubt have happened in her own dormitory was baffling, especially considering her roommates were not known for their subtlety. It was, she inwardly admitted, flattering—the lengths he had gone to, at least. "Morning!" Sirius greeted briefly, before Marlene once again tossed jeans and a sweater into her lap and drew the curtains closed with a flourish.

Before she knew it, Sirius Black was once more leading the redhead from the castle. She had learnt long ago not to question the Marauders, so it did not surprise her that he so carelessly waltzed them through the front gates (still, the question remained, was their Headmaster in on this as well?). "And where are we off to today?" Lily soon asked. Sirius responded with a smirk, and—being now far enough from Hogwarts—wrapped his fingers around the Head Girl's wrist and dragged her into oblivion.

The redhead felt iron bands tighten themselves about her torso in that moment, and was certain her eyeballs had been pushed so far into her skull that they would open on the back of her head upon landing. Thankfully, this was not the case, and she took a moment to compose herself before observing their surroundings. Lily stood in the midst of a quiet village, old and ornate houses lining the street. They were beautiful, really, and Sirius sighed contentedly to her left. He took her hand (there was something distinctly platonic about the gesture), and led Lily on. "Where are we?" the redhead asked, eyeing the ancient homes greedily.

"Godric's Hollow."

Her eyes widened infinitesimally, and Lily felt her heart rate increase as realisation struck. No wonder Sirius' expression spoke of _home_. There could only be one reason for their visit, and the redhead felt panic rise in her throat. "Sirius..."

"You'll be right, Evans."

"No, I—"

"You agreed."

She bit her bottom lip. This was not what the Head Girl thought of as a gift; if anything, it seemed more of a punishment. She was not prepared for this, and more than that, unwilling to face the emotions which the pain in the pit of her stomach alluded to. Lily was suddenly very aware of her outfit, and her hair—she had not had time to comb it (the concern no doubt hinted at something more than she'd like to admit). _I can't do this_, the redhead thought, but something told her she had no choice in the matter. _James Bloody Potter._

Sirius, gripping her a little tighter now, led Lily on, and of _course _they paused before the largest house in the court. Aged and oaken, the building looked down upon her in much the same way James did, and the Head Girl felt a very particular shiver climb the length of her spine. (It was important to mention, however, that—unlike with its occupant—Lily was unable to roll her eyes in the presence of this giant.)

"Come along," Sirius instructed, leading his companion along the pavement.

The Marauder let himself in, and Lily immediately stiffened. Her own home opened into the living room, and so the concept of an _entrance hall _alone was something of a spectacle. That being said, the Head Girl was not exactly a scholar on the subject; still, _this _was a nice entrance hall (as far as entrance halls go). Her reflection looked back at her from the floorboards, and so Lily became aware that her lips were parted in awe. "I know..." Sirius breathed by her side. The walls were a deep burgundy, and candlelight greeted them from an elaborate chandelier. Even more remarkable, however—and Lily's lungs fled with the realisation—was the couple who watched them from the stairwell.

Mrs. Potter was a petite woman, with cropped silver hair and a warm smile. To her left, Mr. Potter stood tall and broad, and Lily observed that he would have rivalled James had he not hunched some with age. His eyes, however, held as much laughter as his sons. (The resemblance was unmistakable.) Sirius went to them, and the three embraced like family.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Potter extended a hand, the lines around her eyes deepening with a pleasant smile, "You must be Lily." And—inexplicably—the redhead felt comfortable.

The four spoke well into the afternoon—mainly about Lily, which was a change—and the more she saw of their home, the more remarkable it became. Mrs. Potter (_Grace_, she insisted) had prepared a memorable meal, and it struck the Head Girl as happy how very easy Sirius was with them (it struck her also, how welcome she felt). In her youth, Lily had imagined James' parents to be monsters—what sort of people could possibly have raised that insufferable boy?—but she discovered them to be anything but. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were kind, caring, and so full of _love_ (for their son, for Sirius, and even for the girl they had "heard so much about")that when Lily fell into bed that night, she found herself thinking that James' family would have been a wonderful one to be a part of.

Wednesday was not the same. It was Remus who woke the Head Girl that morning, and he did so in a markedly gentle manner. She smiled sleepily, and he returned the gesture.

"I'll be your date for the day," the Prefect soon explained, and Lily only nodded. She knew him well enough that this was unproblematic, and dressed without complaint (Marlene had chosen leggings, a winter dress, and woollen cardigan for today's outing). Remus led her to the lake, and—with the help of a warming charm—the two found themselves seated comfortably beneath an evergreen. There had never been the need for conversation between them, but, as she well knew, the Marauder had a purpose in being here.

"I suppose you've guessed why you're with me today, then."

She nodded.

"The four of you—you're sort of a... buy one, get three free sort of deal."

The corners of Remus' lips dragged upwards, and Lily noted the creases by his eyes. He looked tired, and she placed a friendly hand upon his.

"It's more than that, though..." the Prefect titled his head to the left, looking away in contemplation, "I can't—I'm not sure he even understands it, but the gesture he's making here, Lily... It's as if he's literally giving us to you. And I know how that sounds, but hear me out—" Remus ran a thumb along her knuckles comfortingly, "You're right. We've always sort of been a single entity, and I think—we're such a big part of each other. You've had Sirius, and his parents, and now me... Do you see what he's doing here?"

She did, and so Lily lowered her head.

He was giving himself to her. Entirely. And in the depths of her subconscious, something smiled.

The two spoke for most of the morning, and when it came time for them to return to the castle, Remus grabbed Lily's arm in a desperate plea. "Wait..."

He was at war with himself, that much was evident.

"What's wrong?" the redhead queried, but received no response. It was only after several minutes of frustrated pacing, unhappy whispers and hurried breaths that Remus paused before his friend and finally met her eye.

"I have to tell you something."

That night, alone in her dormitory, Lily would ponder how she had not guessed it. In hindsight, it all made so much sense: the illnesses, the disappearances, the secrets. Moreover, she wondered why it was that Severus had never told her (out of spite or otherwise). More than anything, however, Lily Evans replayed the events of Remus' tale over and again; what Sirius had done, but more importantly, what _James _had. _Why _he had told her, too, haunted the Head Girl that night: "Because if James wants to give himself to you, to give _us _to you, then here I am. Because he's my best mate, and I love him... But not half so much as he loves you."

The blankets about her chin, Lily smiled into the darkness.

The next morning brought Peter, which she had—of course—been expecting. He took her to the Astronomy Tower, and, much like with Sirius, the redhead realised she had never sustained a conversation with the boy before. He was quite lovely, actually. Peter had prepared a picnic for the two of them, and Lily found herself smiling more than she'd have thought throughout the day. They ate biscuits and drank hot chocolate, discussed Quidditch and Charms, and only when the Head Girl was happy enough to wonder why she had not pursued a friendship with Peter earlier did the boy in question get to the point.

"I need to talk to you about James."

Her stomach sank, but somehow more pleasurably than it had in previous years.

"I know."

The stories Peter told of his friend made the Head Boy seem like a hero, and Lily was humbled by the adoration in his tone. He stuttered occasionally, but that only made her like him more. "He's my best mate..." the Marauder shrugged (how often would she hear that this week?), "and I know he's not perfect, and I know he's done a lot of stupid things... but, you've only ever seen that, you know? You've never seen the good."

"The thing is," Lily sighed, a little ashamed, "I have... I just always looked away."

"Oh."

There was silence, then, and the Head Girl was left to a moment of contemplation. James Potter had matured; she, however, had not. Lily had allowed prejudice to inform her ill-opinion of the boy long after he had stopped deserving it, and it was an unhappy truth that their situations should well have been reversed. His continued affections astounded her.

"Could you do me a favour?" Peter asked meekly, and Lily looked to him with a small, sincere nod, "Could you stop looking away?"

"Okay."

On the fifth day, Sirius gave her the castle, and on the sixth, their secrets. The map, the cloak, the hidden passages... there was no doubt that the Marauders had mastered Hogwarts. On both days, he told her that James loved her, and on the second, she even smiled.

Christmas Day dawned bright and white, and Lily awoke with a smile. She had dreamt of him, and—almost for the first time—the memory of such was not repugnant. This had been creeping up on her for some time now, she supposed; or rather, _he _had. Hate became dislike, dislike became disdain, and disdain became disapproval. Soon enough, even disapproval lessened to more of a mild disinterest. It had been too gradual to notice, of course, but her opinion of the boy began improving somewhere towards the end of sixth year (and their complimentary titles at the beginning of seventh had been something of a leap). Lily Evans was falling in like, and happily so. Unfortunately, however, Sirius was not there to greet her this morning, nor Marlene; in fact, the dormitory was empty, and she felt her face fall.

Bemused, Lily dragged herself out of bed and took the time to dress (selecting an outfit was something of a challenge, given the previous week) before heading downstairs. She had hoped for a greeting, but found herself once more alone. The Head Girl blinked; beneath the tree, Gryffindor's presents were untouched. "Hello?" Lily called to the Common Room.

No response.

Biting at the inside of her cheek, she proceeded through the Portrait Hole. Even for this time of year, the corridors were unusually quiet, and Lily made towards the ground floor without passing a soul. The Great Hall was abandoned, too. "Hello?" she asked again.

Nothing.

Confusion outweighed curiosity now, and anxiety surpassed excitement. Her mind was dragged towards and drawn from the war simultaneously, and that was not a happy place to ponder. Lily ran her fingers through her hair. "Anyone?" her voice was louder now—panicked—and the question taunted her as it echoed through the hall.

Had it been a joke? A _prank_?

The possibility stung, moreso than that of the war.

Shaking her head—for even _she _could not think so lowly of James—Lily left the Great Hall. The castle doors were open (they had not been before).

Winter kissed the tip of her nose as Lily emerged into the morning air, and—in spite of the situation—she took a moment to acknowledge the season. Hogwarts was spectacular in the snow; as was she, though she didn't quite know it. Crimson had crept into the Head Girl's cheeks, and the tip of her nose was pricked red. Her eyes were ever more outstanding for the colour, of course, and the endless sea of white set her hair ablaze. She proceeded.

Nothing. Nobody.

It was as if Hogwarts had abandoned her in the night, and Lily began to legitimately consider that as a possibility when something in the distance caught her eye. The forest had moved, or at least, something within it. Thus, the redhead continued towards the tree line in nervous anticipation. "Hello?" she called to the morning air, warm breath materialising before her.

Lily did not immediately recognise the creature.

Tall and regal, the stag emerged from the forest with wary eyes, and hers widened infinitesimally in response. Lily seemed like to run—certainly every instinct demanded as much (she was not certain if deer were particularly aggressive, but it was big and she was not)—but something intangible stopped her in her tracks. It might have been the cold, but more likely it was the inexplicable feeling of _safe_ which accompanied this creature's gaze. The eyes were familiar, too—even from a distance—and so she stayed.

When the beast began towards her, Lily felt herself stiffen. Its approach was gradual—patient, even—and she was once again struck with that same sort of _welcome _which had engulfed her in the Potter's home. The stag moved with grace and ease, and soon enough, it stood before her. "Hello," Lily whispered, because it seemed appropriate. Without necessarily thinking it through, the Head Girl raised her arm, finding her fingers in the creature's fur. It lowered its head in acquiescence, and she felt herself smile. Inexplicably confident, the redhead gently walked her fingers along the length of the stag's antler, and it bleated in response. There was something particularly mesmerising about this animal.

She met its eye, and everything fell into place.

_Prongs_.

The transformation was almost instantaneous; still, there were a number of uncomfortable muscular adjustments and skeletal shifts before James Potter stood before her. His hair was messy; her eyes alight. "Hello," the Head Boy responded warily.

Lily Evans had no words.

Overcome, the redhead did not even think to ask why (clever as she was, the answer seemed obvious—Remus having hinted at more than he could say—but it never hurt to inquire). Rather, her thoughts were occupied elsewhere. Lily's lips parted gently as she beheld the boy before her, and it was not the transformation which stunned her into silence, but _him_. He was spectacular. Hazel eyes, scruffy hair, stupid smirk; all of it, spectacular. James Potter looked down at her with curious eyes, and Lily realised she had never really seen him before. His parents had told her stories of their son, and his friends had thrilled her with tales of the Marauder, but none of them had told her of James as she knew him now.

"Ask me again."

The Head Boy frowned bemusedly, and Lily only inclined her head.

"What?"

"_Ask me again._"

When realisation struck, James' lips twitched.

"Go out with me, Evans?"

Whether he knew it or not, James Potter had long ago given himself to Lily Evans, and on the seventh day of Christmas, she returned the favour.


End file.
